Pins and Needles, Stones and Thorns
by Eventide
Summary: A Claire/Wesker ficlet for Halloween. Yes I know I am days late.
1. Hello, Little Girl

A/N: Yes I know, I'm supposed to be working on Something Worth Saving. Yes I know Halloween was days ago. But this was just running around in my head, and I needed to put it down. Think of it as something to tide you all over till I get that next chapter out for my main story.

Cheers.

* * *

She should have left the basket. Yes it was great for esthetics of the costume but it was way too clunky. She'd had to apologize to the umpteenth person for bumping them with it as she tried to pass by. Claire had never been much of a woman for purses. After all, what did you really need it for? If you were out doing something that would ruin your hair or make-up, then having a brush or kit on you was really kind of moot. That was probably why she was such a poor hand at maneuvering around people with the large wicker picnic basket.

"Oh, sorry!" She winced reflexively when the basket caught an Ace of Spades in the back of his knee. The painted and masked face glanced over a black and white clothed shoulder to smile at her sloshily. The party was in full swing by this point and everyone seemed dreamily tipsy. It was almost like she was the only sober person left in the whole place.

Three, maybe four, hundred people gathered together in a large English estate, getting drunk for a good cause. It was almost chafing. The rich and tasteful doing their part for the poor and oppressed by having a huge Halloween Masquerade party. Just because every plate of food sent $300 straight to TerraSave and their cause did little to make it easier to stomach. In Claire's mind, helping people meant more than just shelling out money. It meant hard work, sweat, tears and, all too often, blood.

And so for not the millionth time, she wondered why the hell she was even here. She should be in South America, or the Middle East, or Africa, working with the people she'd joined TerraSave for. And for the millionth and first time she reminded herself that without funds, her organization's hands were tied. Fund raisers like these were TerraSave's life blood. Being Not-for-profit had it's price, and tonight, its name was "Little Red Ridinghood".

She knew she should have looked for something else, something with pants. But when she'd seen the red peasant dress, with it's fall-off-your-shoulder sleeves and black ribbon corset lacing, and she had to have it. Yes it was trite and over done, but this was the first rendition of the costume she'd ever seen that didn't look like something a stripper would wear for a set. It reminded her of the real fairytale, which had always given her chills. And wasn't that the point of Halloween, to let yourself remember what makes you shiver?

So she'd given in to impulse and bought the costume, complete with clunky basket. With which she'd now become thoroughly frustrated. And the masses of drunken party-goers was doing little to improve her mood. She needed a break. She waded through the crowd, apologizing out of hand every few people as her basket rammed into legs of groups clustered up so close it was hard to slip through. It wasn't hard to slip out of the ballroom into a quiet parlor. Places like this were littered with rooms.

The room was softly lit and well appointed. Bookshelves along one wall, a chaise lounge facing a well tended fireplace. There was a chess table near a corner, and the hard wood floor was covered by a large soft rug of swirling, soothing colors. Everything you could expect from the rich and European.

It was a comfortable room, good for catching her breath. She'd have to brave that forest of drunken costumes again, so she took her time to breathe. She crossed the room to the mantle casually, listening to the soft swish of skirt and cape. Above the mantle was an oil painting of a path leading into the woods. It was well done with many subtlties. At first it seemed the path was bright, lit by a warm morning sun, with flowers growing cheerily along side. But as the path wound into the woods, she could see how twilight fell over the scene. The flowers were thorn bushes and eyes of things wild and dangerous peered out from behind tree trunks. It was an excellent piece of art.

"Hello, little girl."

The resonate voice startled her. She spun around, her narrow heel slipping on the hearth step, she lost her balance, stumbling dangerously close to the blazing fire. But before any of her could so much as brush the flames, strong hands came around her. One held her by a wrist, the other around her waist, resting intimately at the small of her back.

Her heart felt like it stopped beating as she looked up into a face, covered with a black dominoe mask, but one she'd never forget. And the eyes, the eyes would always give him away.

"Wesker!"

* * *

A/N: Originally, I was gonna make this a one shot, but it's turned into a ficlet, I felt like I needed it to be in little chapters. So there you have it.


	2. Take Your Time

She tried to pull back from him, but he held her easily. He smiled down at her, amused, and pulled her a few inches closer. She understood the point of the subtle gesture and stopped struggling, it wouldn't do her any good anyway. She saw a flash of approval cross his features and in response she narrowed her gaze at him.

"Whither away so hurriedly?"

"As far away from you as I can get," She shot up at him, defiantly. "Let me go."

He ignored her statement with that damn self-satisfied humor. "And what might there be in your basket?"

"You're funny," her tone dripping distain as her heart raced. "What do you want?"

"Oh so many things, dear heart." But despite his cryptic response, he let her go.

She stepped back from him cautiously, and he just watched her. They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Claire moved. She didn't remember deciding to run, but she did it. She just suddenly dodged around him and sprinted for the half ajar door.

Part of her wondered why she was surprised when he was just suddenly in front of her, closing the door as he casually leaned back against it. She managed to stop just short of running into him. "What's your rush?" He stood straight slowly, taking a step toward her, and she countered, taking a step back. "The party won't end for hours. Take your time."

"You're very witty," she continued to back up as he advanced, step for step. Neither gaining nor loosing ground. "Do you plan to just keep me here while you paraphrase the whole song?"

"I'd wondered if you'd recognize the reference."

"I was an English Lit major, Sondheim came up."

"And did you ever analyze his version of the Red Riding Hood story?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Claire felt something brush the back of her calves. A glance around showed her she'd backed herself up to the edge of the chaise lounge. Crap.

"Did you?" He pressed his tactical advantage and closed the little space between them. Claire would either have to stand her ground, or sit down.

"Yes." She hissed the answer out at him. She was hanging in suspense and it was making her angry. What ever he was up to, she just wished he'd get it over with.

"And?"

"And I'm not going to let you talk me into that corner, Wesker." She tossed her head, realizing that her hood had slipped down at some point and her hair was a mass of loose curls around her shoulders. In a kind of shock, she watched as his hand came up, and brushed a curl behind her ear.

"Many versions of the story center around the idea of the Wolf being a sexual predator, but Sondheim takes a different approach, making the girl a willing participant." He rubbed a strand of her hair between thumb and forefinger idly.

"And some versions," her voice was low in her throat. "She tricks the wolf and escapes, and even learns how to lure other wolves to their deaths."

He smiled down at her, releasing her hair, and instead slid his hand around the back of her neck. An intimate, and dangerous gesture. "And which version do you think really applies, dear heart?"

"Mother said: straight ahead. Not to delay or be mislead."

It earned her a laugh, and he stepped back from her. The sudden lack of him almost made her collapse to the seat, but her legs held. He wandered away from her, confident that she couldn't leave until he was ready for her to go.

* * *

A/N: I know these chapters are short but it's a short little story. Working on next part now. Thanks for the reviews guys!


	3. Something Fresh on the Palate

Silence reigned between them. Claire was left standing by the chaise lounge as Wesker wandered over to the chess board. She watched him, a little anxiously, as he stared at the pieces. Apparently someone had had a game going and had left the pieces still in play. She saw him pick up a black piece and swap it with a white one. Then he reached over and tipped over another white piece. Presumably, checkmate. And that was enough for Claire.

"I am so not doing this." The annoyance in her voice drew his attention back to her. He looked surprised. "Shoot me, beat me up, throw me out the window, whatever, just get it over with. I'm not in the mood to play mind games."

"Dear heart, you wound me." He turned back toward her, casually closing the distance yet again. "What have I done to make you think I mean you any harm?"

"Oh lets see," she could hear the sarcasm in her voice and part of her brain wondered if she'd lost her mind. "The last time you and I were alone together you strangled me, tossed me around like a rag doll. You tried to crush my collar bone under your boot, and then kicked me in the face. It establishes a pattern."

"Circumstances change." He crossed behind the chaise lounge, forcing her to turn to keep sight of him. "If I wanted to harm you, dear heart, I would have done so."

"Then what do you want?" She annunciated each word like its own separate sentence. She was about done repeating herself.

"You know, dear heart, I almost didn't recognize you." He continued circling around the chaise lounge, and once again Claire chose to stand her ground. "You hardly looked like I remembered you."

"You aren't answering the question." She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes, he was so damn close. She could smell that he'd put on a subtle cologne.

His lips quirked into a smirk. "You're awfully anxious, dear heart. Do I frighten you?"

"Only an idiot wouldn't be frightened of a monster like you."

"Monster? Careful, dear heart, you may offend me."

"I'm sorry, am I being antagonistic? I hadn't realized."

"I would have used the term 'eager' instead."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Eager? What about this whole situation do you think I'd be eager about?" He smiled a little wider down at her, and said nothing. His hand came up again, cupping the back of her neck firmly. Then slowly he slid that hand over her shoulder and down her arm, feather light, to her wrist. He stopped when he came in contact with the basket she still held in her hand.

"You're so attached to this little prop, dear heart. Do you have a knife tucked inside?"

"Would it do me any good if I did?"

"Not in the slightest." And then he tugged, yanking her into his chest. His mouth came down on hers, warm, firm and demanding.

* * *

**A/N**: Once again, I know, short. But I've got one last part left to write and I need you guys to review or message me. Should I lemon it, or no? I will go with the majority. So please Review and let me know what you want!


End file.
